


Touch Pass

by ellipsometry



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Daddy Kink, M/M, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, hashtag claude gets railed 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22204843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellipsometry/pseuds/ellipsometry
Summary: Somehow, it’s always Hilda.  “Do you guys ever, like, get the urge to call a guy ‘Daddy’ in bed?”(Or, Claude tests Dimitri's patience, with wildly successful results.)
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 33
Kudos: 862





	Touch Pass

Somehow, it’s always Hilda. “Do you guys ever, like, get the urge to call a guy ‘Daddy’ in bed?”

“No! _What?!_ God! Hilda!!” Lysithea goes a fantastic shade of red, half-choking on a tapioca pearl.

“Hilda, you know I don’t feel comfortable discussing this around the _baby_ ,” Claude hisses, moving to cover Lysithea’s ears. He’s batted away in short order.

When mad, Lysithea gets a certain look about her, like a rabid Pomeranian that knows it’s the exact right height to chomp down on your Achilles heel, maiming you permanently. “Claude, seriously consider if you want to keep your balls attached to the rest of your body.”

Claude suddenly becomes very interested in his bubble tea.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Hilda tosses a long plait of pink hair over her shoulder. “This guy I’ve been fucking around with asked me to call him Daddy the other day and I was like – yeah?”

“So… you did it?”

“No. I’m thinking about it,” Hilda pouts. “I just think it’s not really _organic._ I should be so, you know, caught up in the fucking that I just yell it out, like – _oh, yeah Daddy, yeah!_ ” Hilda’s porn star voice is exactly as Claude would have imagined it to be. “And then he gets all hot and bothered, and throws me on the bed, and—”

“You mean,” Lysithea’s face has cycled through ten new shades of red, landing on what might be called a deep vermillion. “He ruined your fantasy by being proactive and asking for what he wants in the bedroom?”

“… A little bit, yeah.”

Claude almost feels the need to point out that he and Hilda were the ones who bought Lysithea that Choco Chip Mint Bubble Tea when she whispers, _I hate you fucking people_ under her breath. For the sake of his balls, though, he resists.

Hilda sighs, “We shall see. I’m seeing him tonight. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Please, don’t.”

Claude pauses, “Wait, isn’t Sylvain—”

Hilda delivers a swift kick to the side of Claude’s leg with her stiletto heel and, to be honest, he doesn’t remember much of the conversation after that.

But he _does_ get an idea.

+

Dimitri goes pink in shades – first at the tips of his ears, a splash of rose across his cheeks, dusting his collarbones, washing down his chest like a wave that Claude loves to ride, eyes hungry and searching across the other man’s heaving chest. “Feels good?”

Claude considers himself a connoisseur of all the little ways to gather a reaction out of Dimitri. And there are _many_ to be collected – he shivers when Claude loosely grips his neck, whimpers at the feeling of Claude’s fingernails scratching down his chest, or tweaking swollen pink nipples. He’s so _good_ , and Claude likes to tell him he’s good. More importantly, Dimitri likes to hear it.

“C-Claude, please,” Dimitri’s hips cant up just slightly, and Claude can feel his cock pulse inside him, enough to make Claude’s bottom lip wobble. “I’m not sure I can—please—”

They’ve been at it for a while, which accounts for Dimitri’s desperation. And Claude’s not too far behind him, already worked up from Dimitri dutifully stretching him, pinning him down against the bed, one massive hand against the curve of his back, steadily fingering him open. He had even eaten Claude out after, with a gasping, characteristic hunger, until Claude’s hole was soft and glistening wet, spit dripping down his balls. 

And still, after all that, Dimitri’s cock finally breaching him had felt like getting the breath punched out of him.

Now, perched in Dimitri’s lap, Claude can feel his legs trembling, and he braces himself, pulling up just a few centimeters, easing back down ever so slowly, each movement splitting him open anew.

“Be good,” Claude reminds Dimitri, swallowing as he starts to ride him, deliberately slow. Dimitri nods haphazardly, eyes glazing over. As always, he’s happy to do whatever Claude asks.

Except—

 _I can’t be rough with you_ , is what Dimitri says, a few nights after they start hooking up. Claude had suspected this guy had an issue holding his strength back, just from the circumstances of their meeting – he’d encountered Dimitri looking wildly out of place at a nightclub, and somehow coaxed him onto the dance floor. Dimitri had gripped Claude’s waist just a hair too hard, earning him the faintest yellow bruise the next morning. A lightly tipsy Dimitri had apologized profusely; Claude had bought him a drink, given him a sloppy kiss, and gone home alone to masturbate furiously, pressing gently at the tender spot on the side of his waist.

 _What If I want you to, though?_ is what Claude says. And though he can be persuasive as the devil most days, Dimitri doesn’t budge. 

Claude doesn’t _necessarily_ mind. But maybe it’s time he took a new tactic.

“Claude,” Dimitri’s voice is cracking, the slow burn of Claude pulsing around him bringing him to a breaking point. “Please—please let me touch you.”

“So polite!” Claude smiles, pausing to grind his hips down, bringing Dimitri that infinitesimal bit deeper inside him, shuddering as he exhales. “I never— _ah_ —I never said you _couldn’t_ touch me, you know.”

Tacit permission isn’t enough for Dimitri; he holds himself back for so many reasons, most of them that Claude is still untangling, pulling desperately at the threads. But he’s far gone enough to let himself _want_ , and his hand reaches out to Claude, going to grab at his thigh—

—and Claude wriggles away at the last second, leaning back on his haunches just out of Dimitri’s reach.

Dimitri’s face falls like a kicked puppy, “Claude…”

“Hmm, yes?” This strange angle is hitting Claude right where he needs it, and he rolls his hips down, a shallow, hasty thrust. “I thought y-you wanted to touch me.”

“Claude,” Dimitri is stuck on repeat, flushed and pouting. He sits up, cock slipping out with a wet _pop!,_ and Claude’s hole clenches on nothing, cold air against his flushed rim sending a shiver down his spine.

“Look what you did,” he whines, put-upon.

“You—” Dimitri frowns – deeper than he already was, if that’s even possible – and stretches another hand out for Claude. A hand that is promptly caught by Claude an inch before it can touch his skin, fingers closing around Dimitri’s wrist, keeping him at bay.

One blue eye meets green, and a current of understanding passes between them. They both know Dimitri could easily break free of Claude’s loose hold on his hand. Even if Claude were to resist him with all the strength he could muster, Dimitri could still take what he wanted. He could rip Claude to shreds, if he so desired; Claude would probably thank him.

Dimitri unsticks his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing, “You said…”

“I never said you _couldn’t_ touch me,” Claude stretches out. “I never said you _could_ , though.”

Claude releases Dimitri’s wrist, leaning back on the bed, stretching sore limbs. The bottom of his foot brushes Dimitri’s cock, and he lets it rest there, watches Dimitri whine and consider just rutting off against Claude’s foot like some kind of wild animal, coming for any warm body that will have him.

“I don’t—” Something in Dimitri’s eyes flash red, and he grabs Claude’s ankle, hand so massive his fingers can reach almost all the way around, “Why are you being such a brat all of the sudden?”

“Because you won’t do anything about it.”

“Claude” Dimitri warns, hand tightening around his ankle, hard enough to hurt.

The feeling of Dimitri’s hard grip on his skin feels hotter than a brand, and the tiniest flame of nervousness sparks in Claude’s chest as he tips his head to the side, braid tickling his collarbone. “Yes, Daddy?”

It happens so quickly Claude can hardly register it. Dimitri’s fingers bite crescent moons in the soft skin of Claude’s ankle as he grips and _pulls_ , tugging him halfway across the bed in a second, until he’s pinned under Dimitri again, two arms caging him in against the mattress. 

“I’m not interested in games, Claude.” It’s what Dimitri says, even as his dick drips precome onto Claude’s stomach, pooling in his belly button.

“But,” Claude pouts, arching his back until their skin touches, sweaty and sticky. “You love games, Daddy— _ah!”_

He knew Dimitri was strong. He didn’t know Dimitri was _this_ strong. He manhandles Claude like he’s light as a feather, grabbing hips and flipping him over. Claude finds his face pressed into the mattress, a heavy hand against the back of his neck like a warning – and he’s begged for Dimitri to choke him on more than one occasion, and this isn’t quite it but it’s the next best thing, Claude panting and catching his breath against Dimitri’s Egyptian cotton sheets, pinned down and helpless.

Dimitri blankets himself over Claude’s back. He’s heavy and muscled, and just the proof of their physical difference is making Claude dizzy. It doesn’t get any easier when he feels the slide of Dimitri re-entering him – and somehow his cock feels even bigger from this angle, something so hard and hot pressing down into his guts. “Dimitri…”

“Hm?” Dimitri’s breath is heady in Claude’s ear, and he bites lightly at his earlobe. “Who are you asking for?”

“D-Daddy, _Daddy_ please!” Claude breaks immediately, sobbing into the bedsheets, using the tiniest bit of leverage he does have to push back against Dimitri’s cock, fucking himself on it with abandon. The head catches his prostate and he _wails,_ chanting a chorus of _please, please, please_ like it’s the holiest prayer.

“Please what?” Dimitri teases, grinding slowly down against that spot, until Claude’s eyes are pricking with tears. “I still need permission, don’t I?”

Dimitri is being… vocal. Dimitri is _never_ vocal, never says more than _you feel so good_ or _Claude, you’re perfect_ or any other number of cheesy platitudes that, embarrassingly enough, make Claude feel like he’s the most beautiful creature on earth.

“T-Touch me, fuck me, please— _fuck!_ ,” Claude can feel the crest of his orgasm approaching, and it’s crossing the wires in his brain. He wants to _come_ and if he doesn’t, he’s going to fucking _die_ and—

“You’re dripping all over my sheets,” Dimitri mumbles against Claude’s ear, and he finally— _fucking finally_ —drops his hips down against Claude’s, slamming into him with such force that Claude bites down on his own lip hard enough to draw blood. The pace is punishing, wet slaps of skin on skin that echo around the room. 

Claude’s never had any complaints about Dimitri in bed. But nothing is quite as good as this – Dimitri’s desperate breath against his neck, the heavy grip of his hands on Claude’s waist, hard enough to bruise as he thrusts, reckless and hungry. Claude can hardly catch a breath, his lungs drowning in the humid air he inhales through wet, choking gasps.

“Di-Dimi—ah, ah, Daddy!” Claude wails and keens with each thrust. Dimitri relinquishes his grip on Claude’s waist, moving to fist his hands in the sheets, and Claude can swear he hears them tear as Dimitri continues his assault, growling so deep that Claude can feel the vibrations in his chest.

“After being a fucking tease, you’re crying on Daddy’s cock, and—shit, fuck, Claude, you’re—”

“Aah— _ah, ah, fuck—Daddy--!_ ” Claude’s back bucks as he comes, shocked at the speed of his own orgasm, just the snarl of Dimitri’s voice in his ear, enough to send him hurtling over the edge. He’s trembling so hard his teeth are shattering, and Dimitri runs a hand up and down his back as the aftershocks hit him, sensitive cock rubbing against the sheets. Fuck. _Fuck_ , Claude thinks. It’s really all he can think, too blissed out to do anything but lie there and let his scrambled brain put itself back together.

“Claude…” Dimitri sounds a bit pained, and he’s probably ready to burst. He nudges his hips down every-so-slightly—he’s still hard and trapped in Claude, feeling his hole tighten around him.

“G-Go ahead,” Claude slurs, turning his head back toward Dimitri, who looks almost as fucked out as Claude must. “Didn’t you… sssay you wanted my permission? Y-You got it, Daddy.”

Dimitri nods almost imperceptibly, taut as a bow string as he watches Claude reach back to spread his ass, easing the way as Dimitri pulls out and pushes back in, starting a slow, steady pulse. Claude braces himself against the bed as Dimitri kisses his shoulder. He gets the distinct feeling, somehow, that this will not be his last orgasm of the night.

(He’ll really have to thank Hilda.)

+

Later, when Claude confesses his tiny scheme, Dimitri frowns. “You could always ask me to be rougher with you, you know.” He seems to realize it’s a ridiculous assertion the second he says it, remembering all the times Claude’s pleaded with him and been shot down in short order.

Claude laughs. “You do know you’re an incredibly stubborn person, right?”

Dimitri pouts in a way he knows Claude finds simultaneously infuriating and irresistible, “I just don’t… want to hurt you.”

“Bullshit,” Claude nuzzles into Dimitri’s collarbone, breathing against the warm skin. “You were the one who fucked me so hard my ass went nuclear red. I won’t be able to sit for a week!”

“Claude…” Dimitri sounds pained, and embarrassed, and a bit turned on at the memory, to be honest. “I admit it was very nice.”

“Very nice…” Claude repeats, deadpan.

“Yes I…” Dimitri clears his throat. “I really enjoy being with you.”

Claude’s head spins at the idea of this man, who was just railing him into oblivion less than an hour ago, looking so embarrassed and beet red at such a quiet, sweet confession.

“Yeah,” Claude beams at him. “Me too.”

And Dimitri, ever the gentleman, brings Claude’s hand to his lips, kissing the back of it gently.

What a weird guy. Claude thinks he’ll keep him.

**Author's Note:**

>  **HILDA <3:** soooooooo  
>  **HILDA <3:** about last night  
>  **claude:** wow ya  
>  **claude:** I’m honestly not sure I’ll be able to walk today  
>  **claude:** thanks for the hot daddy tip Dimitri loved it  
>  **HILDA <3:** CLAUDE JKLFD  
>  **Lysithea:** I’m blocking both of you.  
>  **claude:** okay, fair.  
>  **HILDA <3:** WHY ME TOO???


End file.
